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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093315">Oblivion, The Death of All Deaths; The Final Darkness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starthewolf1106/pseuds/Starthewolf1106'>Starthewolf1106</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Leaves From The Vine [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker's Mental Breakdown, Dark Anakin Skywalker, Gen, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Murder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:55:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starthewolf1106/pseuds/Starthewolf1106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Song is Pumped Up Kicks by Foster The People though personally I prefer the covers by Egg and by 3TEETH (links listed respectively)</p>
<p>https://youtu.be/GZAtyB6DPPQ<br/>https://youtu.be/lYIsZr9L_rM</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker &amp; Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex &amp; Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi &amp; Anakin Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Leaves From The Vine [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oblivion, The Death of All Deaths; The Final Darkness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Song is Pumped Up Kicks by Foster The People though personally I prefer the covers by Egg and by 3TEETH (links listed respectively)</p>
<p>https://youtu.be/GZAtyB6DPPQ<br/>https://youtu.be/lYIsZr9L_rM</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Robert's got a quick hand</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He'll look around the room, he won't tell you his plan</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He's got a rolled cigarette</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanging out his mouth, he's a cowboy kid</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Anakin studied Koon’s movements while they sparred, analyzing and taking note of every step. He harbored no resentment towards this particular Jedi, and so his death would be quick and painless: it was likely he wouldn’t even know what had happened. There would be no hunt, no slow, drawn-out battle for life. He would not spend minutes gasping and heaving for air, slowly suffocating on nothing. He would not feel the fear of knowing that he could and in fact would die at any moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be simple, a snap of the fingers and he would be gone. Anakin had no problems showing mercy towards the Jedi Ahsoka had looked up to the most. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet he still studied him, just as he did every Jedi. He had made a habit of sparring with others as often as he could, learning their moves and habits. It made combat so much easier. Not that he would ever purposefully engage them hand-to-hand, of course. He was no coward, it was just that direct combat would likely ruin his plans before they even began. But it was good to learn, he figured, as a worst-case scenario. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spent a lot of his time in the library, too. He studied anatomy and medicine; the former to aid in his mission, the latter to avoid suspicion. If asked, he claimed to be studying the subjects to help heal his men in battle. That was partially true, but it was more of an added bonus. Many thought it was an honorable thing to do, and some even started to do the same. Anakin didn’t mind; it offered a crowd to blend into, a plethora of other suspects to fall back on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He benefited greatly from this practice, too. Who knew the human body had so many different parts? And who knew how many, if damaged or disrupted, could end in death? Each text he studied and every new detail he learned brought him more inventive ways to kill, to bring justice. It was ironic, really, that he was using texts made to teach healing to cause harm. But, he reasoned, that it was for the greater good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With one fell swoop, he knocked Koon’s saber out of the Jedi’s hands, much to the delight of the watching younglings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I yield. Impressive, Knight Skywalker,” Koon said respectively. Anakin nodded in gratitude and offered a smile. They bowed and parted ways, with Anakin heading towards the library to study more. He passed by small groups of Knights, Padawans, and Initiates in the halls. Many of them wore marks of battle, much like he did. Missing limbs, scars, and injuries were visible on almost every person older than 13. It reminded him of what he was fighting for, that many of these people were his people, that they were weaponized and deceived just like he had been. Orphaned Padawans huddled together, whispering comforts to each other. Battle scarred Knights watched with hollow eyes as more and more children were sent off to war to fill the spaces left behind by the now-dead adults. Initiates waited in nervous excitement for their turn to fight, not yet knowing the horrors of war they would soon witness. These were the people, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, and he would fight so that they wouldn’t have to. He realized with great sorrow that many would hate him, that he would be villainized and outcast. But he didn’t care. If it meant saving them, he would gladly sacrifice his role of ‘hero’ a thousand times over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Many stopped to stare at him in awe, and with an aching heart he realized that there was the very real possibility that soon, that awe may be replaced with terror and resentment. It would kill him, he knew, but he would rise again, just as he had done before. If what they were living was nothing but ashes made up of the smothered flames of passion and the char of grief, then he would be a phoenix, rising from those ashes and rekindling the long-lost spark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I swear to you I will not abandon you as you surely will me, nor will I betray you as they have done. Whatever it takes, I will save you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he vowed as he passed a group of wide-eyed children. He refused to allow them to fall in battle, fighting a war that wasn’t their own. He refused to allow them to become the scapegoats of a corrupted, lost Order. He refused to allow them to hurt and suffer as so many have already. He refused to allow it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached the library and pulled out the texts he had been studying. Scanning the words, he took notes and made mental plans. Currently, he was reading about hallucinations and what caused them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drowsiness overtook him suddenly. He yawned, his eyes feeling heavy. Resting his head on the table, he let sleep take him.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, he found a six shooter gun</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In his dad's closet, in a box of fun things</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And I don't even know what</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he's coming for you, yeah, he's coming for you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anakin stood in a desert, scorching wind blowing past. Sand stretched on endlessly, an unbroken plane of desolation. The suns were bright, the arid air sweltering. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anakin,” something whispered in a corrupted voice from behind him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gasped awake, looking around. He was still in the library, perfectly safe. He looked around, his heart pounding in his chest for a reason he couldn’t place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With hesitance, he rested his head back down and closed his eyes once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was back in the desert. It looked the exact same as before, and yet, something was different. A chill ran up his spine despite the oppressive heat as he felt something watching him. He turned and saw a glitchy mess of… something.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you blame yourself?” The something inquired. Anakin stared at it for a few moments, trying to figure out what was going on.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“...What?” He eventually responded.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, it’s quite common in this situation for a patient to feel a kind of… guilt,” the thing elaborated. Anakin felt as if he were being stared at, yet the incomprehensible shape had no eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“...What situation?” Anakin questioned. Ice cold dread pooled in his gut, chilling him to the bone. The thing with no eyes looked behind him, and the sense of dread amplified to an unbearable extreme. A loud noise that Anakin couldn’t source rang in his ears before falling silent. He turned, and saw Ahsoka standing, staring at him, her eyes blank and a blaster mark on her head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The accident,” the thing said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anakin awoke when his head hit the floor. He had fallen out of his chair, he realized. With a thundering heart and rapid breathing, he frantically packed up his things and left, unable to get the image of Ahsoka out of his mind.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All the other kids with the pumped up kicks</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You better run, better run, outrun my gun</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All the other kids with the pumped up kicks</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You better run, better run faster than my bullet</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Master? I’m scared…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The candlelight tore through the darkness, dancing in his eyes a seductive, golden glow. Shadows whispered from their corners, calling his name and singing of the bloodshed that was yet to come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was the storm, the wind, the rain. He was the lightning that scorched the earth and the thunder that shook the skies. He was the flame that split apart the dead of night and the flood that cleansed the filth. He was the blood that would be spilt, and the water that would consume it. He was the revolution that came at midnight, and he was the war that arrived at noon. He was the dove and he was the raven; the hawk and the sparrow. He was the spirit of vengeance, of innocence stolen and weaponized in the name of greed. He was the ghost of things that have passed into the night unwillingly. He was the embodiment of the storm, the flood, the fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His name is the whispering wind between the trees right before a hurrucane, the murmur of the swollen river as it spills over its banks. It is the crackling of a smoldering fire as it grows into a raging inferno, the reflection in the raven’s eye as it watches the armies gather. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you think… When all of this is over… We could play that video game we’ve been wanting to play for a while?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roses were planted over their bed of bones, left to romanticize their unwilling sacrifice. Crimson blossoms were set in place so that when future generations gazed upon their graves all they would see is the beauty of the flower, and not the ugliness that resulted in their planting. The sanguine petals, rusted by the river of time, were made not to memorialize or honor their memory, but to distract from the truth that they were killed because of greed, because of selfishness, because of foolishness and of pride. They were killed in the name of the corrupt.  Those blossoms that they planted were red only because of the innocent blood spilt on them, and the thorns were sharp only to spill that blood, and Anakin swore to whatever god had long since abandoned them that he would rise from his grave just to poison those crimson blossoms so that their ruby petals may fall to the ground like </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>did. And if that did not work and the flowers refused to die, he would tear out the choking roots so that they would no longer be suffocated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When those flowers are removed, their graves will lie bare and open so that no longer is a pretty lie spun upon their corpses. The world will see the ugly truth and know that the truth is not some fairytale legend of willing sacrifice and honor, but that it is a twisted horror story of grief and pain. And if some fool were to still gaze upon the injustice so clearly shown and be struck with pride, then that fool would never be anything else. The same fool would critique the moon for its changes and the lark for its song. The same fool would criticize the cricket for its imperfect tune and stare upon the rippling pool in spite </span>
  <span>because it did not show the image they desired. And yet that fool would die happy, for the cloth over their eyes would be dyed the color of paradise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah… That sounds nice…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was the viper coiled around the neck, the fangs that broke the skin and injected their venom into greed-filled veins. He was the blood that dribbled down one’s chin as they heaved, the shaking of the limbs as they grasped at the throat, clawing for air. He was the final, shuddering breath that came before the silence and he was the last heartbeat before the nothingness. He was the cry of shock and disbelief, he was the death that had no name. He was the hidden killer that the proud and foolish feared. He was the medicine that purged the corruption and cleansed the scourge that was the evil. He wiped away the blemishes left behind by those unworthy of their power. He was the haunting, the hunter. He was the darkness that brought the light. He was power, the hunger. He was the pestilence and the plague. He was the feather dipped in night, left behind by the raven. He was the sky bathed in flame, set alight by the fury of the sun. He was everything, and soon there would be nothing. Just as the body that lay in the hall now saw nothing, and never would again.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All the other kids with the pumped up kicks</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You better run, better run, outrun my gun</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All the other kids with the pumped up kicks</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You better run, better run faster than my bullet</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Part of that there was inspired by those 'the accident'/'do you blame yourself' AMVs/PMVs going around. I figured it fit pretty well here :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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